


I got nothin' for you

by ferryboatpeak



Category: Survivor RPF
Genre: M/M, Survivor 33, Survivor: Millennials vs. Gen X
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:35:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferryboatpeak/pseuds/ferryboatpeak
Summary: In which Jay's advice to Taylor w/r/t showmances is delivered in a non-canonical manner (but, knowing Jay, probably still with very engaging facial expressions.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have searched the internet and it appears that I get to launch this ship on its maiden voyage. Cracking a champagne bottle right across the bow, I am. It’s not even a, “Holy shit! Two cakes!” situation, it’s just, hey, here’s some cake if you’re not picky. I have no idea if I’m doing this right.

Jay is starting to conclude that Taylor’s every bit as dumb as he looks. At first he tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, partly out of empathy and partly out of suspicion. Jay’s aware that he personally looks pretty dumb too. And he resents it when people assume he’s as dumb as he looks, but he also appreciates the advantage of underestimation. He sure as hell plans to use that advantage here. He thought maybe Taylor had the same plan.

But Taylor doesn’t seem to have any plans. Unless sprawling out in the sand like a dumb happy golden retriever counts as a plan. Taylor is a hemp necklace come to life. He is sunshine glinting off a swirled glass pipe on a frat house windowsill. He is a human pair of finger guns.

***

It’s possible that Taylor decided to come on the show just to get laid, given his singleminded focus on cheerfully and unselfconsciously hitting on Figgy. There are really much easier ways to get laid than going on Survivor, Jay thinks, especially when you have blue eyes that prompt too-obvious comparisons to the ever-present ocean. The three of them laze in the sun on camp days, Jay tuning out when the conversation shifts away from collective commiseration about all the things they're going to eat as soon as they get home. He half-listens to Taylor’s languid boasting and Figgy’s purring (and Will’s attempts to insert himself awkwardly into their dynamic), and feels pretty good about being part of the Triforce. There are worse hashtags.

***

Sitting at the cool kids’ table does not mean that either he or Taylor are useless around camp. Taylor’s a reliable contributor to fire-building, waiting with a stoner’s patience through hundreds and hundreds of flint strikes before a spark finally blooms. Then he leans in on all fours, enthusiastically blowing on the pile of coconut husks to coax the flame to life, looking practically pornographic. Jay retreats to the other side of camp to avoid any camera angle that could catch him watching.

Jay himself is trying to help out a little bit of everywhere and not too much in any one place, and to always let other people think they’re the ones who came up with the ideas. He did actual research, okay, and he knows the best way to brace pieces of bamboo together and hack a coconut open. But knows what happens to good-looking bros who make the mistake of being too obviously competent. He is determined to get his curls deeper in the game than Joe ever did.

***

When it starts to rain, he regrets this somewhat. There would be a lot more room under the shelter if he would have insisted on his idea for the supports. Taylor crowds himself between Jay and Figgy, shoulder jammed close and his arm warm along the length of Jay’s. Jay stays awake a little, just to enjoy it.

In the middle of the night, the absence of Taylor’s heat wakes him. He squints to the side without turning his head. Taylor and Figgy are layered into a space the size of one person. Jay closes his eyes, but he can’t block out the sounds of caught breaths, freighted exhalations, lips releasing.

The producers hear about it from someone. (Jay suspects Michaela.) The next night they dispatch a camera crew to camp and strongly suggest that it would be good to have some more FigTails footage. The two of them seem happy to oblige. Jay stays on the other side of the fire, pretending to be asleep just in case the camera pans his way.

***

They come home empty-handed from the reward challenge the next day. Everyone is starting to lose weight. When Taylor stretches out on his back, Jay can’t stop looking at the smooth curve of his hipbones and the slot that they open to separate the waist of his swim trunks from his stomach. It’s been a while since today’s portion of rice and beans and a couple of scrounged clams; maybe that’s why Jay feels a bit lightheaded.

***

That night is clear and warm. Jay walks out into the ocean, wanting to get far enough for it to be just him and the water and the stars. The sand slopes so gradually that the solitude feels sufficient before the water’s much above his waist. He floats on his back, idly missing his surfboard.

Someone approaches, splashing.

“C’mon, let’s go out further,” Taylor says, touching him on the shoulder as he passes by. Jay gets his feet under him and catches up, half walking and half paddling.

They swim further and further. Jay realizes that the distance and the darkness have delivered them safely out of camera range. They stop, in silent agreement, when the water’s almost up to their shoulders. The stars feel close as Jay sinks up to his chin and focuses on the horizon.

“You know how much a showmance hurts you, right?” he says.

“Nah,” Taylor grins up at the sky. Jay can see his profile in starlight. “It’s the best thing for your social media. Compelling narrative.”

Jay is just starting to wrap his head around Taylor using a phrase like “compelling narrative” when Taylor goes on.

“It’s always the girl who gets burned for a showmance, anyway. I’ll come out of it OK. Everybody’s going to think I was too dumb to know any better.” He smirks. “The dumb guy’s no threat, right?”

“Does Figgy know?” Jay asks.

“She thinks the same. Neither of us was ever a threat to go all the way, and even if you do, a million’s not that much after all the taxes. Six figures a year on endorsements tops that pretty quick, and if we can play out the narrative afterwards and get one of us on an all-star season…”

“I guess as a… narrative… it’s pretty easy to sell,” Jay says, slowly, trying to adjust to the possibility that Taylor has maybe out-dumbed him, maybe while Jay was busy obsessing about Taylor’s hipbones. “She’s easily the hottest chick here, and you’re the hottest guy.”

Then he realizes how that sounds. He considers sinking under the water and staying there for a very long time.

“Second hottest,” Taylor says softly, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah?” Jay smiles his best bartender smile at him, the one that inspires bachelorette parties to take pictures with him and middle-aged women to tip big and, once, a guy to fan himself exaggeratedly after Jay slid a Rolling Rock across the bar to him.

Taylor’s knuckles brush against his side, and then his fingers slide to grab the waistband of Jay’s shorts and pull him into a kiss.

You would think that after more than a week without showers and toothbrushes, nothing about this would be appealing, but all Jay can taste and smell is salt and heat. Taylor’s fingernails are beach-rough against his hip, and when he presses his hand into the small of Taylor’s back it feels exactly like he had let himself imagine it would.

***

When they break apart, the water feels suddenly cooler without the length of Taylor against him. Jay wonders how this changes things. He is sure as hell not interested in a camera-ready showmance love triangle with Taylor at the apex, god, what a nightmare. Or maybe this was Taylor’s way of letting him down easy as he nudges Jay out of their alliance so he can focus on his perfect narrative or whatever. Shit.

“Still Triforce?” Jay asks, holding his hand up for a fistbump.

“You know it, bro.” Taylor returns the gesture. Jay exhales.

Then Taylor grins broadly: “Ha, BI-force!” He shoves a splash of water toward Jay, then plants a sand-scuffed foot against Jay’s thigh and pushes off toward the shore, laughing and splashing.


End file.
